


Seconds

by BroadwayStarletQueen



Category: West Side Story (1961)
Genre: Depression, Dreams, F/M, Hope, Nightmares, Reunion, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayStarletQueen/pseuds/BroadwayStarletQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria carries on with life, as she must, after Tony's death, but she never manages to find him in her nightmares.  One night when she least expects it, she gets one more chance at goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> I was lucky enough to get to play Maria this summer in the show, and this was a bit of character work I did after rehearsal. For those of you who've never been in the show, just know that it's really emotionally draining. But lucky for me, I have fanfiction at my disposal. Enjoy!

            Dreams are unforgiving.  It’s easy to dream of the blood, the shot, the gasping…the way the seconds slip out of our bodies and I’m moments away from realizing, over and over, that I will never be with _him_ again.

            It’s easy to dream of pain without relief.  But I never dream of him.

            Days are eternities, as they always have been since I met him.  I have a mission.  Each day, I work, I push, I fight for the future we should have had.  I negotiate with the Jets.  I go to the station and reason with Schrank.  Children on the West Side whisper at me.  _She’s the widow_ , they say.  _She held her man as he bled out right of her.  Her fiancé shot him and he died in her arms.  Look at her eyes!_

I forge ahead.  Everywhere I go, the black veil follows, a reminder to keep the peace.  Jets and Sharks alike fall silent when I enter a room.  I am the reminder of what is lost because of hate.

            For moths, I spend the days running from lethargy and beautiful, painful memory—and I spend the nights running back into them.  Anita guards me while I sleep, my guardian angel who rescues me seconds too late from my trap of nightmares.

            “It will get better, _querida_ ,” she promises me one night, whispering into my hair.  “I swear to you.”

            I shake my head.  How can my eyes still exist?  The tears should have hollowed them out by now.  “It is never going to be _better_ , Anita.”

            I know she grimaces.  She understands my pain—she feels her own version of it.  But she cannot understand my bitterness.  She swallows the anger in order to live, but that is something I never can do.  I have to feel it, burning white-hot like a livewire, every second.

            Seconds.  Never to be underestimated.

            To feel what I feel—like half of my body, my soul, is ripped and taken and lost where I cannot find it, it causes me to feel like I am burning and bleeding out, a tangle of limbs that barely makes it out of bed, down the street.

            It is only after my first big success, uniting the Jets and Sharks to protect a shantytown from the police, that I finally see him.

            I dream of him that night, and I don’t burn anymore.  I am fused back together.  One heart, once more.

            I am not anywhere I recognize.  I am somewhere, a new place that doesn’t even exist yet.  Bright, lit-up playgrounds covered in sun.  Long fields, empty roads, no noise.  Sunlight.  Heat.

            And Tony.

            He is boyish and as sweet as I remember.  He has a kind, forgiving smile—a smile that betrays how happy he is to see me.  Warm eyes, floppy hair.  My name.

            “Maria.”

            I am disbelieving.  The atoms of my body yearn to close the distance between us, but I am frozen.  “Tony?”

            “Maria.”  He holds his hand out to me, and I am running, marveling, fast and vital as a planet crashing into him.

            Oh, he is _warm_.  He is heat, everywhere.  His arms wrap lovingly around me, and he hums, content.  We are home.

            “I never see you.  You never come to me,” I accuse him, breathing into his shirt.

            I feel him chuckle.  “Do you always get what you want?”

            “No.”

            “It’s not meant to be that way, Maria,” he explains.  “I wish it was.  I wish I could see you, every day.  But if I did, you’d never wake up.”

            “So?” I ask him with a  pout.

            “So, you have to _live_ , Maria.  You have work to do.  If you got to see me in dreams every night, you’d spend your waking moments trying to stay here.  And they _need_ you.”

            “I need YOU,” I tell him, moving my hands to the sides of his face.  His eyes are kind, deep—as arresting as always.  I press my forehead to his. “Why, _why_ did you leave me?  Why did you go where I cannot follow you?”

            He thinks about it, and gently, sweetly—presses a kiss to my forehead.  The imprint feels like a star.  “One of us had to go, Maria.  It was the only way to stop the hate.  One of us had to stay behind and teach them.  It couldn’t have been me—if they’d killed you, my heart would have frozen over.  I would be too angry to forgive them.  But you—you’re stronger than me.”

            I shake my head.  “No.”

            He laughs.  “Are, too.  Besides, the world could stand to lose my ugly mug.  I don’t know about you, but I think the world would be a little less bright if it lost a face like yours.”

            “I have never cared about faces.”

            “I know.  It’s what makes your heart more beautiful.”

            I kiss him, impulsively, and the warmth astounds me.  But that’s all it is: warmth, no passion or movement.  Only as real as a kiss in a dream can feel.  He frowns as I pull away.  “It doesn’t work that way either.  Sorry, Maria.”

            I pout.  “What is the point if a kiss doesn’t feel real?”

            “Because we’re together.  And _this_ feels real,” he insists, taking my hand in his.

            And it does.  Is it possible that every time we touch, we fuse into a sun?

            I smile, because I cannot help myself.  His certainty is infectious.  “I will always love you.”  
            “And I will always love YOU, Maria.”  He grins, a beautiful, lopsided grin that should be immortalized.  “My life didn’t mean anything until you.  Meeting you—that was my miracle.”

            I blink away tears.  “Was it worth it?”  
            “Always.  You were right, you know,” he says, brushing his lips tenderly against my eyelids.

            “Right?  About what?”

            He pauses.  “ ‘Loving is enough.’  It’s more than enough.  It’s everything.”

            I nod.  “I know.  It wasn’t enough to keep you with me.”

            “It was enough to change the hearts of teenage killers.  Arguably more important.”

            “Not preferable.”

            He laughs out loud, and takes my hand.  “Not preferable,” he agrees.  “Come on, Maria, no more talk of sadness.  Let’s pretend we’re back in the bridal shop.”

            I wrinkle my brow.  “The bridal shop?”  
            “I made you laugh there, once.  We didn’t spend enough time doing normal couple stuff.  I feel kinda bad about that.”

            I muse on that.  “Would you like to play on the swings?”

            He snickers a bit.  “I haven’t been on the swings since I was a kid.”

            “Oh, it’s fun!  You’re never too old to go on the swings,” I laugh, feeling light and breezy, as if I were already seated on the swing.  I sit on one and look at the chair thoughtfully.  “Back in San Juan, our playground was rusty and very old.  This one is nice.”

            “Want me to push you?”

            “ _Por favor_.”

            “ _Si_ ,” he says with a grin, and he sends me flying.  “Tell me more.  I want to know everything about you.”

            “I want to know everything about YOU!” I giggle.  “We could take turns.”

            “Favorite color?” he asks.

            “Pink,” I say decisively, and he scoffs.

            “You’re such a girl.”

            “I _am_ a girl!  Where did you grow up?”

            “Lower West Side, born and raised.  I only ever left the city on family trips to Jersey or Coney.  Riff was on our apartment floor, but his folks didn’t treat him nice, so he moved in with us a long time ago.”

            I look at the clouds, an idea suddenly forming.  “Do you see Riff?”

            “Sometimes.  He’s fine.”  He stops the swing and gives me a quick peck on the ear before I can ask.  “ ‘Nardo’s fine, to.. He understands, now.  He says to tell you he misses his little _hermanita_.”

            I smile to myself.  “Can I see him?”

            “I dunno.  I think that’s up to him.”

            “Does he miss Anita?”

            “Very much.”  He stops the swing again, but I don’t mind.  “We never really leave you, though.  When things are important, we’re there with you.”

            I reach for his hand.  “You’ve been with me this whole time?”

            “Not all the time.  But a lot, yeah.”  He wraps his arms around me from behind and whispers, “Do you know how proud I am of you?”

            I make a _tsk­_ -noise.  “I have not given you any reason to be proud.”

            “Sure have.  You’re so brave.  My brave little Maria.”  He kisses my temple, lingering there for a moment.  I shiver.  “You have to go soon.”

            “No!”  I scramble around and cling to him.  “I’m not leaving you—”

            “You have to—”

            “STAY,” I command him, anchoring him right in front of me.  “I don’t…”

            “You have people to take care of, Maria.”  He traces a thumb over my forehead and smiles—a secret.  “You have a family.”

            “Tony—”

            “And I mean that.”  He punctuates this with a short kiss on my lips.  “You’re going to want to take good care of yourself.”

            “I don’t—”

            “Not just for _your_ sake.  For theirs.  And for ours.  For _our_ family.”  And he brushes the back of his hand over the fabric over my belly, for the briefest of instants.

            Seconds.  Never to be underestimated.

            I gasp with the crushing certainty that comes with dreams.  “Tony…”

            He smiles, unfathomable.  “Something’s coming, Maria.  Something good—a miracle.  And you’re going to be fantastic, I promise you.”

            I shake my head.  “Not without you.”

            “You won’t be alone.  I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”  He looks behind him, a bit worried.  “I’ve gotta go.”

            “Kiss me.”

            And he does—he pulls me close, and for the last moment, it feels like it could almost be real.


End file.
